Detectives Against The Dark Arts
by eclecticist
Summary: When Sherlock decides to investigate the curse that surrounds the Defense Against The Dark Arts post at Hogwarts, he finds a temporary and unexpected distraction in the Quidditch teacher, a certain John H Watson. Will be updated by this Saturday, writer is currently facing big scary exams :( Apologies for those waiting.
1. Chapter 1

Before John Watson closed his eyes his last image was that of the empty seat in front of him, and then his head tilted gently to the side so that it was leaning against the window of the train, and he fell asleep.

John never woke up gently though, his nightmares forbid him from that. Instead he woke up with a start, breathing heavily, trying to separate himself from his dreams.

And the first image that greeted John this time was that of a man. A very curious looking one indeed.

The man's posture was relaxed, but straight. His hands were in front of him, his fingertips touching gently. His eyes were closed.

John had a feeling he wasn't asleep though.

The man hadn't changed into his robes yet. He was in a large black coat, a blue scarf lay discarded to his side. His dark curly hair was ruffled, and fell over his forehead.

John realized how rude it was of him to be staring only when the man's eyes shot open, suddenly.

"Um." Said John.

But the man's eyes were quite vacant, almost dreamy. And he didn't even seem to acknowledge John Watson's presence. John wondered briefly if the man opposite him was on narcotics.

And then something snapped in the man's eyes and he was in his feet so suddenly that John flinched.

"Care to introduce yourself?" John said, frowning slightly.

Sherlock looked down at him. His eyes were green.

"John Watson, I assume." He said, his lips curving upward slightly. "I suggest you give your brother that phone call you promised, we've almost reached our destination."

Sherlock Holmes opened the compartment door and disappeared, his coat flapping behind him.

John took his cell phone out of his pocket. Five messages from Harry. Shit, he had promised to call her as they were reaching. John glanced at the closed compartment door and wondered if the new Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher could read minds.


	2. Chapter 2

John was saying goodbye to Harry when the train slowed down and Sherlock made his reappearance, this time with Mike Stamford.

"Uh Harry, I'll have to talk to you later then, we're reaching." He said hurriedly.

"Cute girl enter the compartment?" John could hear the smile in his sister's voice. "I'll leave you to it then."

"Shut up Harriet." John replied. "Be good, then." And he slipped the phone into a pocket of his cloak.

"_Harriet_," the man said, sounding displeased. "Your sister then?"

"I'm sorry, I'm not quite sure how you know that." John said. And then, to Stamford, "Hello Mike."

"John," Mike smiled. "I see Sherlock's already begun his little analysis."

"Sorry, what?"

"Show him then, Sherlock." Mike said.

Sherlock took a seat. John noted he still hadn't changed into his robes.

"As much as I'd like to flaunt, to impress your friend here, my mind is rather pre-occupied at the moment." He said smoothly.

"Sherlock Holmes, I've read that name before." Said John.

"Yes well, the Daily Prophet can't get enough of me," Sherlock said, managing to sound conceited and disinterested at the same time.

"No, not that." John said. "I read one of your articles. The Magic of Deduction, was it?"

Sherlock looked up sharply.

"What was your opinion?"

John felt slightly disconcerted by the man's piercing gaze, but he replied honestly. "Seemed a bit fantastical. What was it you said? 'There is no magic in deduction'? You claimed muggles are capable of it."

"Depends on the muggle." Sherlock said. "But I require no magic for what I do. I am one of the few wizards not dependent on magic."

John scoffed slightly.

Mike raised his eyebrow at Sherlock. "You can't possibly pass this opportunity." He said.

Sherlock smiled coldly.

He fished his wand out of one of his pockets and handed it to Mike.

"As you can see, Mike here is holding my wand. Nonetheless, I shall proceed to perform what is commonly mistaken as magic."

He looked John up and down. John looked back at him, refusing to waver.

"You were a previously an auror, sent to work in Afghanistan or Iraq, clearly. You evidently have a sister, Harriet, forgive my earlier presumption that she was a brother. You secretly share my disdain for magic, and are, in fact, apprehensive of holding a wand, which is visible by the slight tremor in your left hand when you are holding one, which your therapist believed to be a sign of post-traumatic stress. You quite recently quit your job as an auror, so my assumption is that you were hit by one of the unforgivable curses, possibly… The cruciatus curse?"

There was silence.

John picked up his suitcase, silently. His hand had stopped trembling. He vaguely heard Mike calling his name. He squeezed his eyes shut but that made things worse. All he could see now was the flash of light that he associated with pain.

Unbearable pain.

He had to get out.

He fumbled with the compartment door, got out, and ran.


End file.
